Page 43 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

I hoped he hadn't taken a mind reading class in med school.

Mike grinned wickedly. “Fishing, babe. Fishing.”

15

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

A soft hand brushed over my hair. I opened my eyes, confused. Mike's voice was a husky whisper against my ear. It sounded very sexy and appealing. But as I sat up, I realized I'd drooled on myself and most likely had a crinkle in my cheek from the seatbelt and all sexiness went away.

“We're back,” Mike said as he leaned over from the driver's seat. We were parked in Jubal's circular driveway. The sky was still light, as usual, but all was quiet. I looked at the clock. Eleven thirty.

We'd gone to the small town of Hope and fished where a river fed into the Turnagain Arm. The mouth of this river was popular with fisherman from the news of a Silver run, and it seemed everyone had success. The salmon heading upstream to spawn were plentiful and much easier to catch than in Ship Creek. The scenery was spectacular—high peaks, water, and a quaint town. Just what I'd envisioned. After catching three Silver salmon each, we cleaned them at the little metal gutting table on the water's edge and packed them into one of Jubal's coolers.Another fisherman gave us some ice to cover our catch until we got home and could pack them properly.

By nine, with the sun still high, we were both worn out from the overly full day and satisfied with our haul. The three fish were my first salmon catch and I was high from the excitement. To most women, I was crazy. But there was a certain peace in fishing, a 'one-with-nature' feeling that comes with standing in a beautiful spot in the wild and flirting with a fish, tempting it to take the bait. Catching a salmon was solely at its whim. When it knew it was time—by some fascinating olfactory sense—to travel back to the exact spot where it was born to spawn. Then die. It was an intriguing cycle of life I didn't have an opportunity to slow down and savor.

Mike knew what made me tick, what my bait was and how to tempt me to take it. Especially by taking me to the perfect little spot on the globe, the miniscule—and lovely—town of Hope. With a heated look, every curious glance, each protective action, he was flirting with me. On top of that, he knew the way to my heart was through a fishing pole, so he'd lured me to him not once, but twice.

It was working. Hook, line and sinker.

“Sorry,” I murmured, stretching. “I didn't mean to fall asleep on you.”

He smiled. “No worries.”

“You must be tired from driving.”

Shrugging, he said, “Nah, your snoring kept me awake.”

I punched him in the shoulder. “Ox.”

“Babe.” He brushed hair away from my face, his calloused fingers leaving a tingling wake.

His eyes were so blue, so clear and he had them focused solely on me.

“It was good between us,” he said, his voice husky as his gaze dipped to my lips.

I nodded, knowing he meant long ago.

“It's going to be so much better this time.”

This time.As if it was a given that we'd end up in bed together. Or the back of a truck.

“You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?”

His finger slid back and forth over my lower lip. I sucked in some air, surprised by the heat of such a simple gesture.

“Oh, yeah. There's chemistry between us, Vi. I know you can feel it.”

I could feel it all right.

He glanced down my body. “Your nipples are hard.”

My eyes darted to my hoodie covered chest, amazed he could see. “How can you?—”

“The way your cheeks flush. Just like that. Your nipples. They're hard, aren't they? They're hard for me. Tell me.”

His voice dropped low. Dark and rough. Commanding.

“Yes,” I said on a breathless whisper. I couldn't help my reply, as if my body had no choice but to respond. My nipples—and certain girl parts a little lower—certainly had.

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